


As it Stands

by choasblast03



Series: The Mental Blender [2]
Category: Titan AE (2000)
Genre: Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Events of Detroit may be mentioned in passing, F/M, Friendship, Kinda, Male-Female Friendship, Mature rating is because these two might get rude, Maybe - Freeform, Other, Platonic Relationships, again only if you squint, dont mind them, going more for playful platonic, not really - Freeform, there's shipping if you squint, they goofs, treasure planet characters may cameo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choasblast03/pseuds/choasblast03
Summary: The year is 3039, Korso is traveling with Preed to collect a crew for his mission. On one supply stop to a drifter he decides, what the hell, I'll stop for a drink, relax a while. Whilst there he catches the attention of another patron who goes over to greet him. She introduces herself as an Earth historian with "mixed" blood as she puts it, as she isn't fully human. Korso reluctantly invites her in on the mission, but he could use company other than Preed and the scientist. You'll follow the group's travels before they scout out Stith and AkimaThis will usually follow Korso.. though you'll be able to tell when it doesn't.Also. Let me tell you a secret~(I have read the books, so enjoy deeper lore than common titan-folk)Basically, calm character driven crew bonding over layed on gorgeous Space~ mainly dialogue.





	1. A Chance Meeting

Korso had recently finished a supply run for his ship, but he wasn’t too keen on being marooned in space with Preed and Gune again just yet. For the sake of his sanity, he’s taking a small break with other humans to stop by the local tavern. It was well kept for a drifter bar, almost felt like home.. almost. Steps sure and heavy, shoulders rolled back by the residual harness of his military background, he takes a seat at the front bar. Ordering a drink while his focus was on the rest of the building. He assessed probable exits, possible weapons, any likely threats among the patrons. It’s an old habit. A scanning radar tick he could never seem to scratch. Eyes flicking this way and that as he listens to anything and everything while taking in as much information as possible. It was a life saving skill on the battlefield. Here, it just helped him eavesdrop. A next level people watching as his hand goes to curve around the glass the barkeep slid his way. The populous is mostly human, normal demographics of a drifter colony, though the amount of alien life was higher than he can usually recall. Maybe it’s just because he’s in a tavern. Alcohol tends to bring all walks of life together, and just being in the building doesn’t mean they live here. Gah… he came here to relax, not mull over the populations of extraterrestrials on a floating hunk of metal pseudo-earth. He turns back to his drink. It’s not good, not bad, unremarkable as beverages go. What can be remarked on is the sensation he’s being watched. Two points of ghostly pressure on the side of his skull he can’t trace for the life of him. Whenever he looks noone is even remotely close to spying on him. That only leaves the idea that whoever is watching is either also military, or just a good spy. Neither helped him feel at ease. Of course his at ease would be high strung a few decades back, but if it’s the best he can manage he won’t complain. The source of discomfort eludes him until suddenly it just.. stops. Maybe they left? He’s then approached by light, almost silent footsteps, the same feeling hitting the back of his head as he knows the one who was watching is now right behind him. He turns only to be met halfway by the slender hand on the bar next to him. The mystery figure leaned to gain his attention.

“You’re new.”

An obviously feminine voice, but he won’t assume just yet, turning more to meet the stranger. Their features are nearly human but not quite, slightly cat like in the way they’re almost drawn the way an elf would be in those old Tolkien novels. He never read the things, but enough of his friends did. The figure is slender, certainly not a threat to him physically, however if they have a weapon. He checks for a hostler, or the hints of one, getting a chuckle and a flick of their tail. Tail? He didn’t notice it, probably swayed back just out of sight earlier. 

“You done being a human metal detector? Can I sit down?”

He scoffs a little at the patronizing, but gestures to the bar stool next to him so the stranger can sit, the posture they assume similar to an over confident ass he’d seen a dime a dozen anywhere else.

“Not much of a talker huh?”

“I talk  _ Fine _ .”

“Ooh! It does speak.”

He trains his face from the snarl daring his lips to curve.

“Why were you spying on me?”

He asks, brusk and succinct.

“Didn’t recognize you, I’m a curious soul really. Murdoch. Earth Historian, Counselor, and a struggling female artist! But dreaming doesn’t pay the bills.”

A hand is offered that Korso reluctantly takes, retreating after the contact to keep a comfortable distance. Silence falling as Murdoch looks at him expectantly.

“What?”

“And you? Introductions are mutual you know.”

He stops a roll of his eyes.

“Korso….”

Trailing off unsure as she had stated her occupation before he just growls a little.

“..Nunya.”

“‘None of my business?’ Classy. At least tell me what brings you here?”

“Supply run.”

“For~?”

“Things.”

He’s stuck between being annoyed and finding the behavior endearing. It confused him. 

“Barkeep, another for Mr. Grumpy Gills. Maybe I can get an answer over three syllables.”

She calls over the counter, quickly getting the tender’s attention before another glass of alcohol is put in front of Korso. He notices her own drink, something red, with a lime wedge. This place’s version of a cape cod maybe? She takes a small sip and by that information alone he can tell she’s had that glass for several hours. She was trying to not be rude as the drink was not to her liking. 

“Bad vodka?”

He asks, smirking a little. Loosening up with another drink in his possession. She meant him no harm, not yet at least.

“Bad Cranberry actually..”

So it  _ was _ a cape cod. 

“I’m scared to try to cut the flavor with the lime.”

She mutters on. Drawing a chuckle from him.

“Tell you what. If you can knock it back in one go I’ll get you something else.”

She eyes him over the glass.

“From tight-lipped to teasing in a  _ moment _ . Sir. are you being nice or trying to get me drunk?”

“That’s telling.”

“There’s my three syllable limit again.”

“Talent.”

“Hm.”

She looks down at the glass in her fingers, eventually taking a breath. 

“So I torture myself like this you promise to get me something palletable?”

“Scout’s honour.”

She almost seems sick looking at the red liquid before she throws it back, tail twitching irritably as she forces it down turning her head to hide her disgusted hack from the barkeep. Korso fights down his amused look to just a curve of his brow. 

“What else would you like?”

“No idea, but I swear that was better last time I ordered it. It tastes like they ran out of cranberry and cut open a toaster strudel to make a substitute.”

“Straight vodka?”

“No.. not my speed… what did you get?”

“Bourbon.”

“Ah, yeah I’ll pass on that too. Used to live in the house of bourbon. I would not be happy. You know. I think I’ll just take a water.”

“Damn, my plan to make you drunk has been foiled.”

“I knew it.”

Okay, he may have let a smirk slip, but she was funny, much better company than a slimy Akrenian and the basement wacko back on his ship. Moments later he’s handing her a glass of water, and she takes a savoring drink.

“Oh thank goodness. It doesn’t taste like anything.”

“So have you greeted everyone in the bar like this?”

“Hm? Oh no. I just noticed you weren’t a regular and… you looked like a story.”

“A story?”

“Someone who has more to talk from than just drifter life. You know. Engaging conversation. You don’t get that often as a person like me.”

On that note. Korso phrases himself carefully.

“About.. what are you exactly?”

“I’m mostly human, just some mixed breeding on my father’s side.”

“Oh.”

“It has its perks. Like this thing! So useful.”

She brings her tail in front of her stroking the tuft at the end appreciatively before the slender appendage swung back behind her. 

“What for?”

“It’s prehensile.”

She grabs her drink with the limb and takes a sip.

“See, no hands. Ever wanted an extra arm? It’s kinda like that.”

“Huh. That would come in handy in my line of work.”

“Which is?~”

His brows lower, still unsure whether he can be that open.

“I promise my father had 0% Drej”

A blow of air leaves him in surprise before letting his chuckle slip free.

“That wasn’t my worry.”

“Then what is? Obviously it’s important if your so tight lipped.”

“that’s not i-”

“Hold on a minute. Korso?”

“Hmm?”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Nat It would it?”

“The what?”

“Should I spell it out instead?”

N-A-T-I-T-! Oh. Wait a second?!

“Get it?”

She’s being discreet. If it took him that long and he knows the project it most likely hid the topic from any eavesdroppers. 

“No. I don’t”

He taps out a yes on the bar in morse, and her gaze trails over his hand. Her tail flicking she got it. He thinks.

“Ah well.. mistaken identity. Happens all the time. So then, mystery traveler. I assume you’ll be heading out soon?”

“Most likely.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring answering my questions with three syllables?”

“Not really.”

“You got a ship?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it called?”

“Valkyrie.”

“Damn… You’re good.”

He is  _ so _ glad his ship didn’t kill the gimmick. Her eyes narrow.

“What’s Da Vinci’s first name?”

“Leo.”

“Full name?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Is it?”

“No it’s not.”

“How so?”

“It’s-”

He grunts. There’s no way to say it’s impossible under 3 syllables.

“It’s~?”

“You’re an ass.”

“You could yield?”

“Never…”

She heaves a sigh, though something tells him she’s just biding time. Without a question, he can talk all he wants however. 

“So what’ll you be up to when you leave here.”

“Nothing really.. probably just sitting at home. There’s not much one  _ can _ do without a ship.”

“Hmm.”

He’s debating something. He could use more crew. Though a historian wouldn’t be the easiest to justify putting on the mission. But she was so much easier to talk to. 

“Why don’t you tag along?”

Her brows raise.

“Hmm?”

“Join the crew.”

“And why would I do that?”

“You’re bored right?”

“Oh terribly. But I thought the mission was top secret. You sure?”

“Positive.”

She swishes her water, brows drawn.

“It’s not a contract or anything. We can drop you off at any time. Just thought you might like a story.”

That got her attention.

“Alright.. I’m in.”

“Glad to have you on board.”

“So who’s the rest of the gang?”

“Gune and Preed.”

“Do you plan everything for three syllables?”

“Maybe.”

No. He’s just gotten  _ really _ lucky. Her glass makes a small thunk, now empty.

“Guess I should go then. I’ve got some packing to do.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Where and when should I meet you?”

Oh crap… he definitely needs more than 3 syllables... Oh Well. The game was fun while it lasted. It would’ve gotten old eventually.

“I’ll give you an hour. We’ll be at the lower docks.”

While her eyes shine with amusement that she won, she says nothing on the subject, standing to leave.

“See you soon then.”

He waves goodbye taking his leave not to long after. He’s got to tell his second in command what’s happening at the very least. Oh boy… This’ll be fun.


	2. Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have returned!!  
And with more Korso Murdoch shinanegans!  
Time to get on the ship and begin that convos overlayed on gorgeous space I mentioned so many moons ago.

His fingers drum over his arm as he waits at the docks. He’s maybe been there 5 minutes before a familiar woman with a prehensile tail nearly trots up to him. One of her bags held by said appendage while a pack is slung over her shoulder and another smaller pack hangs crossbody at her hip.

“That’s it?”

His brows quirk.

“What? expected piles of luggage? This is pretty much everything I own.”

She sends back, and while he’s impressed, he still has to get some digs in.

“Moving in are you?”

“I’m getting onto a ship going God knows where, even when I do get dropped off I have no guarantee the Drej won’t wipe this colony out of the galaxy.”

Her statement is rather glib for how painfully obvious it is.

“Suppose you’re right.”

“So where’s your ship?”

“Right this way.”

“Am I on the limit again?”

“Not at all.”

She gives him a smirk and he doesn’t hold back his snicker. Almost excited to have a conversation aboard that  _ isn’t Preed! _ Finally boarding his ship as Murdoch follows behind, boots making patterned thunks that reverberate through the metal of the hull in a near-hum that fills the hallway. They barely touch the soles of their shoes to the ship floor for 12 seconds before a snide voice clips across the space.

“Remind me what this new crew member is for again?”

“She’s a historian and a counselor.”

Korso snipes back gruffly,

“Her history knowledge could prove invaluable in finding the Titan, and when we get a larger crew it’ll be useful to not have them kill each other.”

“In other words she’s baggage until specific circumstances.”

Preed grins at the Captain, mouth seemingly having an endless supply of lip to curl up and make the expression smug and oh-so tempting to punch into the nearest wall.

“And what’s your position?”

Murdoch chimes in, Korso flicking his gaze between the two. Let’s see how this goes down.

“Second in command. I take over when the Captain is busy or incapacitated.”

“In other words you’re baggage until specific circumstances.”

_ Ouch. Even an Akrennian has to be feeling that one. _ But if anything Preed only smirks wider.

“On second thought Captain, the ship could use a woman’s touch.”

Korso chuckles. They’ll get along just fine. Correction ‘get along’.

After showing Murdoch her quarters, Korso makes the rounds to check the ship. Ensuring everything was ready to go. He really could use a mechanic… he could use a pilot, a gunner, a cook, hell a new back- he has no idea what he did, but his lower back is killing him. It can’t be his posture. That’s always picture perfect simply out of habit. The most likely cause is age… he groans, twisting to maybe have something pop and give him a little relief. No luck. Well the ship is all set to leave, he may as well check on his new crewman. 

She’s already practically decorated the place. knickknacks on almost every available surface. Seems that small luggage was deceptive. Currently she’s fiddling with some pillows that likely were in the plastic pouches that are now empty on the floor. She had to have vacuumed those bags to make those fit.

Her gaze flicks over to the door, seemingly a habit, noticing him and straightening with a smirk.

“Good afternoon captain.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s not afternoon.”

“Fine then, Guten Tag?”

“Not even sure it’s day either.”

“Well aren’t you just lovely company. Well come on in, no need to lurk in the door like some gargoyle.”

As he walks into the room, there is a lot of Earth paraphernalia. 

“You have quite a lot from home.”

“Well, I’m kind of a pack rat. And paranoid, so after even the slightest rumor of the Drej. I had go packs.”

“We tried to keep that locked up tight, how early did you know?”

“Probably about as soon as the higher ups of the military. I pieced it out myself. The technological advancement was encroaching on what could ‘pose a threat’ to the Drej.”

“So in other words you were a conspiracy theorist.”

“Seems like it was much more than a conspiracy captain.”

“True. -is that a?-”

“Wind up toy? Yeah. Go ahead.”

“It works?”

“Pssh! Of course it works. I take good care of my stuff.”

“How old is this?”

“Older than you. A lot if this stuff is. I have a stash of things from the 21st century”

“How did you get your hands on so much of it?”

“Family of pack rats. As well as a keen eye on retro sales. I’ve got some comics from the 20th century.”

“And they haven’t turned to dust?”

“With the aid of 30th century preservation technology. Not at all. Hell, they’d probably survive a Drej attack now, flame retardant, water proof, the colour is pretty clear too. Here.”

“Marvel huh?”

“DC was never my favourite.”

“Fair.”

His gaze scans over the old cover, flipping through the pages delicately. These really  _ were _ old. Just the cityscapes in the backgrounds date this thing  _ way _ back. And cars. Look at that..

“Nostalgic?”

“More like ancient.”

Murdoch smiles weakly. Taking the comic back to place into safe-keeping.

“But thank you.”

He continues, Murdoch quirking a brow.

“For?”

“Keeping part of home alive. Caring about it. I guess.”

“Well I’m a historian. That’s part of my job.”

“Didn’t mean you had to bring centuries of the planet with you.”

“I suppose. You’re welcome to come by and look around whenever. I’m sure there’s plenty of stories hidden in this hoard.”

“I’ll probably take you up on that. When I’m not busy.”

“Ah, so see you next century then?”

“Ha. ha.”

“Hey, you came to see me.”

“Correction. I came to make sure you were ready to leave. Nothing left behind or supplies you needed?”

“Now that you mention it…”

Korso puts a hand to the bridge of his nose, a heavy sigh audible before Murdoch chuckles.

“I’m kidding I’m kidding. I’m all set Mr. Grumpy Gills.”

“That’s Captain Grumpy Gills to you.”

“You likely don’t even know that’s a reference.”

“To..?”

“Old 21 cetury film Finding Nemo.”

“Next thing you’re going to tell me is you’re well versed in black and white films.”

“Well… I do know quite a few.”

“Don’t you ever call me old.”

“Freedom of speech sir.”

“So you  _ are _ American.”

“With Pride.”

“Wasn’t sure for a little while there.”

“Oh? Why is that.”

“The German, mostly, and at the bar you seemed more European, but then all this told me otherwise.”

“Ah. Ja, Ich kann Deutsch. Je parle un peu Français, aussi. Posso parlare un po’ d’italiano. But English is my first and best language. I know bits and bobs of other languages. Ég tala smá Íslensku.”

Korso nearly triple takes. And she laughs, continuing.

“I understand more of the languages than I can actually speak. Nihongowa sukoshi hanashimasu. However, I know not a lick of Chinese.”

She chuckles to herself.

“Just never could pick it up, I tried. Nothing sticks.”

“Spoken like a true american.”

“Oh~? And what do you speak?”

“Good English and Bad English.”

“Alright Corbin Dallas.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

She waves a hand at him, and he huffs, almost like a pout, but he refuses to call it such.

“I’ll assume that was a nerdy highbrow historian reference.”

Murdoch then laughs uncontrollably. 

“I- haHa! I suppose, oh Lanta… HAHAAHA!”

“What’s so funny?”

“Haha ahhh hmhmhm.. nothing.. just some more ‘Highbrow Historian Humor’.”

“Alright…”

He gives her a bit of a side eye, but eventually drops the subject. 

“Would you like to meet the rest of your crewmates?”

“You mean aside from Akrenibly Rude?”

Korso snrks.

“Yeah, we’ve got one more aboard. Gune.”

“Lead the way. May as well get a tour of the ship too right? So I can help out.”

“I hired you to be a historian and counselor, I don’t see where you could-”

“I’m a quick study Captain. I’m going to pull my weight around here.”

“I assume that’s not much..”

“Are you asking a woman her weight, Korso?”

“I implied it was low. Is that not a compliment?”

Murdoch makes a theatrical sigh.

“Men, never learn~”

Korso can’t help his smirk, she’s entertaining to say the least. Dropping the act she hums amusement.

“I don’t care in the slightest, just givin’ ya a hard time.”

“Just be careful. I have the authority to jettison you from the ship.”

“You couldn’t catch me if you tried.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe..”

“And what is Ms. Historian doing to serve the ship  _ now _ Captain?”

“Ah Preed, actually I was about to train her how to replace you.”

“It’s rather simple really. I think I have it down. ‘Oh Captain! Really I must tell you my plan is better. For  _ I’m _ an Akrennian,  _ I _ know best.’ What do you think?”

“I think you’re out of a job Preed.”

“Ha. ha. Very funny, next time be sure to refer to the Akrennians as a superior race and you’ll have it down. I’m not fired just yet.”

He took that surprisingly well. Korso quirks a brow at his second in command. 

“I was actually going to give her a tour of the ship then introduce her to Gune.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure she’s learning a lot. If the conversation I walked into was any indication. Be sure to show her where exactly the Ship starts and the Single’s Bar ends.”

“Humans are a difficult company to come by these days.”

Murdoch starts, but of course, Preed interjects.

“But are you actually human? You don’t look it.”

“I’ve got some mixed breeding.”

She explains, tail twitching in annoyance.

“But for the most part yes. But as I was saying. Humans aren’t exactly thriving at the moment, especially those who remember our home. it’s just nice to talk to someone who gets it.”

“Even if most of your references are almost a thousand years old.”

“Hey, best joke is a brick joke. And if I weren’t smart I might say you look a thousand years old.”

Korso’s brow twinges.

“Excuse me.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“AND that’s my cue to leave. There are things that actually have to get done around here. And that does not include however  _ this _ is about to get done.”

As Preed strides off, Korso and Murdoch just laugh. 

“That worked rather well..”

“Ah so it was a plan to scare off my subordinate, you weren’t actually saying I look old?”

He expects her to laugh, say something snide. 

“Oh far from it. The only hint of your age being over 30 is that little token grey, but it suits you.”

That was… surprisingly genuine.

“Thanks.”

His pride puffs up a little at that.

“But you could also help yourself by fixing the crick in your back.”

There it is- wait what?

“You have back pain right?”

“Maybe. How’d you-”

“Stay still.”

She steps around him and pokes around his spine, making him jolt.

“I said still!”

She hisses. A little more prodding and she grips his waist and shoulder and with a harsh tug, and a loud crack. That feels so much better. Korso breathes out in relief.

“You’re welcome.”

She muses.

“Heh.. yeah. Just warn me next time.”

“Maybe.”


End file.
